


Somno

by AmoreanonynameFormerlySteerintoit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Codependent Winchesters, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, HARD gen, Happy Ending, M/M, No Smut, Non-Consensual Touching, Sammy is so tired lately, Wincest - Freeform, gencest, ish, just snuggling, non-con fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-18 01:48:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmoreanonynameFormerlySteerintoit/pseuds/AmoreanonynameFormerlySteerintoit
Summary: Sam is so worn out these days that he sleeps far heavier than he used to. Increasingly, Dean takes advantage.





	Somno

All their lives, Sam had slept like… like a really badly sleeping thing. He’d never slept well, he’d always had nightmares, he’d always woken up easily. Dean remembered when Sammy was a toddler, he and Dad could barely flip a damn light switch without waking him.

But nowadays, Dean noticed, when Sam was out, he was _out_. The guy had been pushing himself too hard, for too long. Trying to get by on three or four hours a night. He was exhausted, but would never admit it. And these days, when he actually allowed himself to _stop working_ long enough to grab a few hours, he was dead to the world. These days, Sam could probably sleep through a hurricane. 

These days, even when Dean took Sam’s books from his slack hands, threw a blanket over him, Sam kept snoring away. Even if Dean pushed the hair back from Sam’s face - a move that might have gotten him punched in the past - Sam didn’t budge.

One night, while they were staying in a motel in the middle of god-knows-where… Duluth? Pierre? Sam had finally passed out around 2am, knowing they’d have to start around 7 in the morning. Dean, unable to sleep, set about doing what he always did when he was at loose ends: he fussed over Sam. He’d fallen asleep fully-clothed, shoes and all. Dean was loathe to wake him, but figured he wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping that way for long, and started working at Sam’s shoes. To his great surprise, Sam was sleeping so deeply that Dean was able to get his shoes off without rousing him. 

Deciding a game of chicken was in order, Dean figured getting Sam out of his flannel would be the next challenge (he briefly considered also trying to get Sam’s jeans off, but decided that would be a bridge too far). Gently, gently, he unbuttoned Sam’s shirt, slooowly eased it off him, shifted Sam around just enough to get it done. This time, Sam stirred a bit, and Dean was worried he’d pushed it too far and woken him (and would perhaps have to answer some awkward questions - Sam was usually tolerant of Dean’s fussing, but it had been a few… decades? Since Dean had dressed or undressed Sam outside of necessity due to injury or, uh, death. He wasn’t sure what Sam would make of this.) Luckily, Sam settled again after a moment and seemed to drift back off. Dean finally got Sam’s shirt away, leaving his brother in his T-shirt and jeans. 

Maybe it was seeing how peaceful Sam was, finally getting some rest. Maybe having Sam under his hands, tending to him like a small child in ways Dean could _never_ do when Sam was awake. Hell, maybe Dean was just a little too tired and lonely himself. But he suddenly felt a wave of affection and tenderness towards his brother. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind Sam’s ear. Cupped his face for a moment. Decided he really had pushed his luck by now, and retired back to his own bed. 

The next day, Sam acted completely normal. Clearly he hadn’t remembered any of what Dean had done, and probably hadn’t realized he’d passed out fully clothed.

***

A month or so later, different motel, same routine. At least Sam had managed to get his damn shoes off and into some sleepwear before he passed out this time. 

Dean was too amped up to sleep. He and Sam had lost track of each other in a vamp nest. Vampires. You know, the things that had _literally killed Sam_. Dean had been absolutely panicked, and given the wild look in Sam’s eyes when they did finally find each other again, Sam must have been freaking out too. They had instinctively clutched at each other for a moment, but there was no time. The job wasn’t done yet. 

Now, hours later, safe in bed, watching Sammy sleep, Dean felt a rush of relief and gratitude. He still had his brother. Sometimes it really did feel like the world could just fuck right off, go to hell, as long as Sam was still with him. Dean would never admit it to Sam, but sometimes in the day or two after a really bad hunt, Dean would look at Sam reading, or eating, or watching TV, or _sleeping_, and literally go a little weak in the knees from relief. 

Unable to help himself, Dean gently sat down on the bed beside Sam’s sleeping body. Stroked his hair for a moment, even though this time none of Sam’s hair was anywhere near his face. He rested his other hand on Sam’s chest, feeling the rise and fall, the proof that Sam was breathing, that _Dean could breathe_. Rested his hand over Sam’s heart. The strong, steady thump was so soothing that Dean nearly fell asleep where he sat. After a moment, he forced himself to take his hand away and go to bed.

Before his tired brain could suppress the thought, it occurred to Dean that he’d sleep a lot better every night with his hand over Sam’s heart.

***

More and more often, Dean found himself touching Sam while he slept, and he knew it was kind of a problem. While Sam had become more affectionate, and more comfortable with affection, over the years, they weren’t really _cuddlers_. He imagined Sam would find it strange, to say the least, if Dean started stroking his hair, touching his chest, rubbing his arms, all this weird shit he was doing, apropos of nothing. Well, sometimes stuff like that did happen, when they were injured, if one of them had _died_, if the goddamn world was ending. But not for no reason. If Dean was quite honest with himself, he really wasn’t sure how Sam would feel about Dean turning into Mr. Handsy on him while he slept. 

At the same time, being able to touch Sam that way was soothing to Dean. It was like the first time he’d ever drank himself to sleep, but _better_. He remembered dimly, their dad commenting that when they were both tiny, Dean used to climb into Sam’s crib every night. Dad had tried to stop it at first, but seeing that both Sam and Dean seemed to sleep a lot better that way, had let it continue. Dean could faintly remember, being four, five years old. He didn’t understand about hunting or monsters yet, but he knew something _bad_ had happened, that his mom was gone, that dad wasn’t fun or happy like he used to be. But Sammy was still there. Sammy needed him. Maybe Dean needed Sammy. But he remembered, even at that age, he only really felt relaxed, only really felt safe or happy or peaceful, when he was lying in bed with Sammy. 

Maybe it was that. With about 35 years’ more crap. But now that he knew Sam - adult, gigantor Sam - wouldn’t wake up from it, he had become more and more bold about touching him, and more and more dependent on it. Needing to feel that heartbeat, needing to touch that hair, needing to stay near him for a little while longer, before he could crawl back into his own bed, calm enough to get a few hours’ sleep himself.

What’s more, Sam, in his sleep, seemed to like a lot of the touch. He didn’t wake up, but he did sometimes respond. Sometimes leaning into Dean’s touch, or breathing more evenly, or visibly relaxing. Dean wondered at times if Sam’s unconscious mind thought that maybe it was Jess? Or maybe Amelia? Someone he used to share a bed with? 

Or was it actually _Dean_ he was reacting to?

***

One night, a rare night off from hunting. A rare night where Dean had actually convinced Sam to fucking _relax_, quit researching, quit working, quit all of it, for a night. At home, chilling out, watching a movie in their sweats. Both of them splayed out on Dean’s bed. Dean noticed that Sam’s eyes were starting to droop, and that he looked a little glazed. Geez, it was what, 9 pm? Sam really had been burning it at both ends for too long.

Dean paused the movie and nudged Sam. “Hey Sasquatch, you’re fading out already. Better get back to your room before I have to carry you.”

Sam blinked a few times. Looked a little bashful, a little embarrassed. 

“Dean… is it okay if I just crash here tonight?”

“... Sam?”

“Just...this is nice, it’s comfortable. I’m freaking _tired_, Dean. And I’m tired, and… I think I just want to be here tonight. Never mind, it’s dumb. I guess I’m just kinda needy right now.”

Sam shifted to get up and leave, and Dean caught him by the elbow.

“Sam… it’s okay. You can stay tonight if you want to.”

Sam lit up for a moment, and Dean had to admit it was kinda adorable how he smiled. “What, really?”

“Yeah, really. Just don’t steal all my damn blankets, you gorilla. And try not to take up the _entire_ bed.”

Sam, looking more relieved that Dean had seen in possibly years, quickly scooted over to one side of Dean’s bed and crawled under the covers. Dean, despite himself, started rubbing Sam’s shoulder. Within literally a few seconds, Sam was snoring.

Dean frowned for a moment. This guy really, seriously, needed some time off. But he couldn’t exactly be upset at the situation. He settled himself under the covers next, and, taking advantage of Sam’s unconscious state, started rubbing Sam’s back. Letting the warmth of Sam’s body, his nearness, lull Dean into a sleepy state himself. He could never tell _anyone_, but having his little brother in his bed next to him might well be better than valium.

Dean was startled out of his sleep-haze, and damn near startled out of his skin, when Sam sighed beside him. Was he awake?

After freezing for a moment, but not seeing Sam leap up, or punch him, or freak out in any way, Dean settled for calmly asking.

“This okay, Sammy?”

“Yeh. Yeh Dean. ‘S nice, actually. Guess it’s… it’s been awhile. Y’know?”

Yeah. Yeah, Dean knew. He started rubbing circles into Sam’s back once more. Then, as they grew more relaxed, tossed his arm across Sam’s torso.

“Don’t think we’re both gonna fit here if I don’t do this.”

Despite only seeing the back of Sam’s head, Dean was sure he _heard_ Sam smirk. But Sam, half-asleep again already, backed up a bit into Dean’s arms, and this time, Dean was sure, was out completely.

Dean rested his hand over Sam’s heart again. Breathed in Sam, rested his forehead on the back of Sam’s neck. Hair and all. The warmth and the thump and the smell and the nearness and _all of it_ pulled Dean into sleep, hours earlier than he normally would.

Both of them slept a good ten hours that night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is life! Thank you for reading!


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